


here, here, and here.

by semperfemina



Category: SEVENTEEN (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Slice of Life, boys! in a record store!, very little plot mostly just A Lot Of Feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-01
Updated: 2018-12-01
Packaged: 2019-09-05 08:00:44
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,335
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16806628
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/semperfemina/pseuds/semperfemina
Summary: seokmin and soonyoung, soonyoung and seokmin - two of a kind.people don't understand this easily: how it feels to be a piece of a matching set, a pair. no one understands how much there is to lose. half of your heart belongs to someone else.(do they write love songs about the way this feels?)





	here, here, and here.

> i'm a war of head versus heart  
>  and it's always this way -  
>  my head is weak, my heart always  
>  speaks before i know what  
>  it will say.
> 
> _crooked teeth_ , death cab for cutie.

* * *

it's wednesday afternoon when soonyoung thinks, for the first time, about kissing seokmin.  
  
the thought occurs to him as a sort of non-sequitur. it's one of those strange, left-field standalone ideas that seems to come from nowhere in particular.  
  
but it's there, all the same.  
  
soonyoung's brain does this (and other things like this) sometimes so he wants to think that it's nothing. he wants to think it's just a coming-and-going type idea, and it'll follow a path in his mind and disappear - he wants to picture this thought the way you picture a leaf floating down a stream.  
  
there one minute, gone the next.  
  
it's wednesday, mid-afternoon, cold outside and raining. he and seokmin are the only two people in the record store. there are no customers - no other employees; it's quiet and there's a tegan and sara song playing on the store stereo, and seokmin is leaning against the counter in front of the cash register, reading a music magazine. soonyoung stands beside him, reading over his forearm, and then he looks at seokmin's face in profile.  
  
soonyoung stares - at the sharp slope of seokmin's nose, his dark hair pushed up off his forehead. he's pouting the way he does when he's thinking, not the way he does when's sulking, when he's angry. soonyoung knows the difference.  
  
soonyoung knows most everything there is to know about seokmin, except what it's like to kiss him -  
  
and soonyoung knows that the feeling, the idea, the thought (what would it be like?) isn't going anywhere any time soon.  
  
it's not nothing.  
  
it's something, soonyoung realizes and he thinks - _oh no_.  
  
and then he thinks - _fuck_.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
this isn't a love story -  
  
that would be too clean a break to make, wouldn't it? too simple.  
  
here's what it is - a picture, if that helps; two boys, a stack of records between them, the easy monotony of days they spend together among the piles of vinyl albums and between the cash registers.  
  
soonyoung has never thought that he'd be suited for a love story, anyway. love stories are for people more tame than him. love stories are for boys who are cooler than soonyoung; love stories have never been for people like him, for boys like either of them. (seokmin and soonyoung, soonyoung and seokmin, two boys and all the things they share, their names married by the word between.  
  
and, and, and - the _and_ has been there so long that now there isn't really one without the other.)  
  
sensitive boys, boys who feel too much - sunny boys with laughs that are too loud, boys who know more about music than they know about dating, boys who wear thrift store clothes, boys who live in one-bedroom apartments on the very edges of their neighborhoods. these boys, quiet and shy boys with heads full of too many words and hearts full of too many feelings: this is the kind of boy seokmin is, the kind of boy soonyoung is. love stories are not for them, and that's okay; because neither of them needs the love story to be happy.  
  
so this isn't a love story.  
  
but it's a story about them, about _and_ -  
  
about how soonyoung fell in love with his best friend and all the things that came after.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
soonyoung doesn't like love stories.  
  
not typical ones, at least - by the book ones. soonyoung doesn't like romance or love in a greeting card kind of way, what he thinks must be the usual way. he doesn't like movies about people falling in love, doesn't like books about it or even most songs.  
  
soonyoung likes the idea of being in love, of being loved; he thrives on the concept of it but _love_ for soonyoung isn't love the way it is for people in the usual way.  
  
mostly, he likes stories about people who find themselves in the aftermath of a love they don't have anymore - he likes stories about love where the love is deep and obsessive and unrequited. _here-and-now_ type of love; _no tomorrow_ type of love. he thinks of love in the way it leads to heartbreak.  
  
soonyoung doesn't like love stories that have a tidy ending, happily ever after. he never has - doesn't think he ever will. so maybe it makes sense that love winds up being the thing that undoes him -  
  
maybe it makes sense that one day he wakes up and realizes that the person he loves is the person he shouldn’t want the way that he does. soonyoung doesn't like predictable, he doesn't like the textbook approach, so maybe this is what he gets. just desserts.  
  
it seems even more cruel than it would be if it happened to someone else, someone not him, that soonyoung falls in love with the one person he doesn't think he can ever have.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
"look - " seokmin says.  
  
they are in the back room, the walls stacked high with excess stock and forgotten things, filing cabinets full of paperwork that neither of them care to learn how to do.  
  
look, seokmin is saying and he's extending his hand and in it, there's a picture. it's glossy, printed from a disposable 35mm camera. soonyoung takes the picture and looks and it's a picture of them.  
  
in the picture, they're in this same room. in the picture, they're two or three years younger. in the picture, they've both started working here not too long ago and in the picture, the two boys have just become friends. they're sitting on top of two of the cabinets pushed together, and they're smiling. they've both got their heads cocked to the side.  
  
time hasn't done much to change either of them.  
  
"what a couple of silly kids." seokmin says this quietly, fondly, and when he reaches back to take the photo from soonyoung, their fingers brush together and soonyoung feels something in his chest going all fuzzy and warm and he wants to cry for some reason, but he doesn't.  
  
he blinks at the photo, blinks at seokmin, does his best to smile.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
soonyoung realizes, acknowledges, calls it ( _it_ being: him, seokmin, the way he feels when he looks at him, when they look at each other) what it really is, finally - he finally lets himself think that he _loves_ seokmin.   
  
it's cloudy and grey and when the snow begins to fall on their walk back to work from having lunch, the fine flakes take the two of them by surprise.  
  
in front of the record store, just outside the tall glass doors, they stop. there are snowflakes caught on seokmin's eyelashes. (soonyoung wants to count them, the delicate little crystals - he never, ever wants to look away from this, struck suddenly by how lovely he thinks seokmin is.)  
  
and if seokmin notices him staring, soonyoung wouldn't ever know it, too inside his own head, too in the moment. soonyoung wonders for a moment if he's dreaming; seokmin smiles, and it's not the kind of smile that crinkles the edge of his eyes. instead, it's a soft smile, uncomplicated and unfiltered. and when seokmin is smiling at him like that, soonyoung thinks it's possible - he thinks seokmin could love him back. he wishes he could take this moment, moments like these, and seal them up. he wishes he could keep the feeling of it inside him forever.  
  
when seokmin reaches out and brushes his gloved hand across soonyoung's hair, hanging tousled and bleach bright in his eyes, soonyoung's chest aches.  
  
when he inhales, sharp and surprised, it aches deep down inside his chest. just for a minute. he tries to tell himself that he's not breathless because of how close they are, how right it feels, how badly he wants to whisper i love you. if he started, if he ever said it, soonyoung thinks he would never quit.  
  
i love you, i love you so much, i love you, i love you.  
  
his lungs feel flooded. he breathes shallow. and he lies to himself; tells himself that it's just the cold.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
soonyoung knows this, he's sure of this: he's positive that seokmin doesn't mean to be cruel.  
  
(he doesn't know, after all, so how could it be anything except coincidence? but soonyoung struggles with the thought still, the idea that he's just being played with. a part of him wonders if this is some sort of game to seokmin - if he's known all along and he's just twisting the knife in soonyoung's heart to watch him pretend that it doesn't hurt, that he doesn't feel a thing.  
  
soonyoung gets angry at himself for thinking these things. he feels ashamed.  
  
seokmin would never, ever, ever hurt him. soonyoung feels guilty for even entertaining the idea that he would.)  
  
so maybe it's not a calcuated sort of meanness, it's not pre-meditated, but it feels like a punishment all the same when seokmin does things like this.  
  
_this_ is what he's just done, what he's doing now; they're in the living room of a friend of a friend’s apartment, the party before the party for someone's birthday night out, and when seokmin calls to soonyoung from across the living room, soonyoung answers. he's a little tipsy, already a couple drinks in, but he's still sober enough that he has his bearings about him; drunk enough that when seokmin calls, he goes so obiently and readily that he thinks it’s painfully obvious how foolish he is for seokmin, and sinks down onto the couch next to him without a word.  
  
when he sits, seokmin is turned away from him, laughing, and the sound of it makes soonyoung smile. soonyoung vaguely hears the click of a lighter but he's busy; he's got one hand on seokmin's knee, playing with the frayed fabric there. he's listening to the bass in the music playing, a little lost in it, and then suddenly -  
  
suddenly, seokmin's hand is on the back of soonyoung's neck and he's leaning over, leaning in, leaning too close; too close, too close, too close. soonyoung's fingers tighten over the top of seokmin's knee and his breath catches in his throat, his eyes wide and surprised because seokmin is suddenly halfway on top of him and pulling soonyoung towards him.  
  
the hand on the back of soonyoung's neck slide up, just at the nape of his neck, and he can feel seokmin's fingers in his hair and when seokmin's other hand falls soft on the curve of his jaw, soonyoung thinks he's going to die.  
  
(he isn't breathing, he can't think past the sound of his heart in his chest; seokmin brushes his thumb against soonyoung's chin and then he presses, and soonyoung's lips part, his mouth falls open and -  
  
and seokmin's lips almost touch his, but they don't. soonyoung's vision goes a little blurry and he realizes it's smoke that's clouding his eyes.  
  
"close," seokmin says quietly, and the hand on soonyoung's jaw moves; he nudges soonyoung's mouth shut, leans back a little, smiles. "sharing with you." seokmin giggles, already gone silly and pliant and soft. soonyoung finally manges to take a long, deep breath in. seokmin's hands fall from his hair, from his jaw; he's smiling, says, "good boy.")  
  
for the rest of the night, soonyoung's brain feels like it's on fire, and he's not sure if it's because of the weed or because of seokmin.  
  
and he spends the next few hours half in a trance, reaching up occasionally to touch the swell of his own lips; desperate to imagine that the weight, the pressure, is what seokmin's mouth would feel like on his own.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
things don't stay the same, but they don't entirely change.  
  
instead, soonyoung feels himself shrinking, collapsing when he gets near seokmin. he feels himself folding under the weight of how he feels, what he wants, and the last bit of common sense he has says to plan for disaster. his brain says - _we have to get out of here_ and soonyoung tries to listen so he pulls away. for the first time in a long time, for the first time since they've known one another, he tries to separate himself from seokmin.  
  
this mostly just means that soonyoung snaps and he gripes and he tries to follow through with what his brain tells him ( _retreat, retreat_!)  
  
but the bad thing about seokmin being his best friend is that he's seen this before, he's seen this too many times; and he doesn't take soonyoung's moodiness seriously, he doesn't take any of it to heart. he's used to the flightiness, the up and down - so used to it that instead of pushing soonyoung away, seokmin just pulls him in closer.  
  
(metaphorically, and literally; seokmin takes soonyoung's moods as things that can be tamed, he thinks he can love it out of soonyoung; so seokmin is constantly pulling at his hands and sleeves, he's leaning his head on soonyoung's shoulder - he's yanking soonyoung in and hugging him, these long, warm hugs that soonyoung wants to melt into.  
  
it's torture - it _has_ to be torture.)  
  
soonyoung goes home and puts on his mopiest music, he stares listlessly at the ceiling and blinks his eyes long and hard trying to picture anything except seokmin when they're closed and he's left alone with his brain.  
  
soonyoung wakes thinking of seokmin, and he goes to sleep thinking about him, too.  
  
he dreams in the weight of how heavy seokmin's hands would be on his chest, his shoulder, his throat. he dreams in the shape of seokmin's mouth, slick and swollen and ruined.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
_everything_ , soonyoung thinks, _is miserable_.  
  
it's agony to feel this way, and for once he comes to the conclusion that he might not _just_ be being dramatic.  
  
he says nothing - does nothing. soonyoung won't ruin this, he won't ruin them. he won't lose his best friend, their bond to a silly crush, a passing thought that has overstayed it's welcome. he doesn't want things weird, he doesn't even want them different.  
  
(wrong, all wrong: soonyoung's version of how things should be and how he wants them to be are at-odds. he still wants to kiss seokmin, so maybe he does want things to be different. he wants to know why this is happening now, why he feels this way; wants to know why it took him the better part of four years to come to this realization and wants to know why it won't leave his mind - why he can't have some goddamn _peace_.  
  
he still wants to kiss seokmin, but that's not as bad as it gets. wanting to kiss his best friend is only scratching the surface - there's this ache for more, for something else, because soonyoung doesn't know how to be halfway in or halfway out. he only knows how to throw his whole heart into things, and for some reason, for this time, his heart feels like a cement block or a heavy anchor, tethered around his ankles and he's just dropped it over the side of a bridge into the deepest, darkest part of the water below.  
  
soonyoung feels like he's drowning; there's so much more. it has already changed things, even if seokmin doesn't know yet - it's all different in a way that makes soonyoung want to hide his face and cry and hope it goes away. different in a way he knows could destroy this, destroy them. and that would be worse than any romance gone wrong, any bad break-up. the worst of it is that soonyoung loves seokmin, same as he always has, but not the same at all.  
  
he can't say it anymore, now - can't say he loves seokmin out loud, too scared of the way he knows it would sound. too honest, too real.)  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
there are things that make it harder to keep doing this.  
  
( _this_ being all the things soonyoung used to consider normal, _this_ being the time he and seokmin spend together.)  
  
"i have to open tomorrow," seokmin says, and soonyoung breathes in deep because he knows what's coming, he knows what's next - "can i sleep over at yours?"  
  
(because soonyoung lives a ten minute walk from work where seokmin lives two connecting trains away and the store opens early on the weekends, eight am. this is going to be one of those things, one of the hard things, but because soonyoung is who he is and because seokmin is who he is and because they're best friends, soonyoung says, "why even ask?"  
  
he says, "of course.")  
  
so they close the store and walk to soonyoung's apartment together and they sit on the couch eating takeout, watching netflix. seokmin falls asleep there, sunken down into the cushions, and it's where soonyoung leaves him, the lights off but the television still on, a blanket draped over his legs. soonyoung goes to bed.  
  
(and later, sometime later, soonyoung wakes to the weight on the bed shifting and the covers being lifted and seokmin is sliding next to him. they have slept like this more times than soonyoung can count, but like all things, it's different now and his face flushes, prickling with heat when seokmin's foot brushes his own beneath the blanket.)  
  
"warm - " seokmin half-says, half-sighs, probably still half asleep.  
  
soonyoung waits for a moment, waits until his heart stops beating so fast that all he hears is his own pulse - he waits, and then he rolls over, and their feet touch again - and seokmin is cold, it makes soonyoung want to pull him closer but he settles instead for not pulling away.)  
  
"minnie," he says after a moment. he's not sure what he intends to follow it up with - he stares in the low, dim light of the bedroom at the boy laying next to him and soonyoung's chest feels impossibly full and strangely vacant, hollowed out at the same time.  
  
seokmin hums in response, barely opens his eyes, and idly, he lets one of his arms fall from where it was crossed over his stomach and his fingers come to rest against soonyoung's wrist.  
  
in the end, he loses the courage - loses the heart. he stares at seokmin for too long in the watery, thin light from the moon and he thinks what his life might be like if they never, ever sleep like this again. he thinks about a seokmin-shaped hole in his life, and soonyoung can't think of anything worse, anything more of a punishment. he doesn't tell seokmin how he feels - instead, he places the flat of his palm against seokmin's forearm and lets seokmin fall asleep while he drags his finger across his arm, soothing and gentle.  
  
"goodnight." soonyoung whispers, all the fight gone out of him. he lays awake, mapping with his fingers all the veins in seokmin's arm - counts and names all the places he'll never press his lips.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
seokmin, on the other hand, loves the idea of romance.  
  
seokmin _loves_ love.  
  
(soonyoung knows this because remember, he knows everything - everything about seokmin that there is to know.)  
  
seokmin likes watching films about love, he likes listening to stories about love. he likes being around people who are in love, finds them fascinating and spellbinding in their happiness.   
  
seokmin thinks of love in the grand scheme of things, the part it plays - life is a puzzle and love is a piece of it and seokmin is biding his time putting things together. he's waiting for that piece to fall into his lap and once he has it, there it will be; a forever thing, a fits-just-right kind of thing.  
  
him being such a fatalist about the whole thing bewilders and disheartens soonyoung - because seokmin has so much faith in love, he has so much stock in it, and soonyoung (who isn't one to feel particularly jaded) feels guilty for not trusting the universe the way seokmin does.  
  
"i'm an optimist," he tells soonyoung. his smile matches the words - bright and cheery and a little daft in the hopefulness.  
  
"that's not optimism, minnie," he says. "it's blindfolding yourself and throwing a dart. it's just luck."  
  
"sounds like something a pessimist would say - " seokmin grumbles, and he's half-pouting. (he doesn't like when soonyoung makes him feel silly about this; they've talked about it.) so soonyoung reaches over and jabs his finger in seokmin's side until seokmin has to tell him to stop, half-smiling.  
  
"you know i'm playing," soonyoung says, even though they both know he wasn't. "whatever makes you happiest."  
soonyoung wishes, a little selfishly, that he could be the thing that would make seokmin happy.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
the last time soonyoung was fixated on someone like this, it ended up being one of those long-lasting ordeals; one of those things it takes you a long, long time to recover from.  
  
it took him a long time to recover from it, at least; given soonyoung's predisposition for angst and for turning himself over to the throws of extreme emotion, he had begun to consider that maybe his last relationship and the low, slow, painful demise of it weren't as bad as he had made them out to be. he considered that there could be a chance he was malingering.  
  
he always thought people were exaggerating when they talked about a bad break-up; until he was grown and there was the bad break up, the first (and last) one he ever had, and there was his heart feeling like it had been broken into a million little pieces.  
  
the bad break-ups, he realized, were not stuff of myth or mid-twenties hyperbolic, cautionary tales. the bad break-ups were the ones that left you wondering if there had ever been or would ever be anything else for you.  
  
(the bad break-up left soonyoung feeling dazed and sick and ruined for the better part of two years. there were days, more days than there weren't, where he wasn't sure how he could ever go on. for the longest time, he couldn't see beyond it - he felt like he was in a fog.)  
  
soonyoung doesn't want another bad break up - he wants to think that the one he had was as terrible as they get, but he doesn't want another one, or even one that is slightly similar. it was too much, it hurt too much; and he's not trying to be dramatic, but he doesn't know if he could live with that again - especially if it was seokmin on the other end and suddenly soonyoung didn't have him anymore.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
he starts to consider maybe he was wrong about the whole being in love thing.  
  
(not about _being_ in love; soonyoung is painfully, horrifically aware of the fact that he is in love with seokmin and that it isn't changing anytime soon. what a fucked up thing to be right about, he thinks, but it is what it is.)  
  
he starts to think that maybe it's not all bad is all, which is not a thing that soonyoung should be thinking.  
  
this, this situation, _is all bad_ \- soonyoung is in love with someone who has no idea how he feels and he's too scared to fuck it all up to say anything, but -  
  
(there shouldn't be a but.)  
  
but it feels good to look at someone and feel the way he feels when he looks at seokmin; warm all over, content and smitten and happy to get to be around someone who makes him want to never stop smiling.  
  
it's not all miserable after all, which is another problem altogether; the good always outweighs the bad with soonyoung and seokmin and soonyoung realizes he'd rather feel this way (his heart heavy with adoration, bursting with it) than any other way at all.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
"you're mad at me," seokmin says.  
  
he announces this with little in the way of introduction. it startles soonyoung. one minute they're listening to music, and the next he's angry at seokmin, which is news to him.  
  
they're laying on the carpet in soonyoung's living room; lying with their shoulders pressed together. there's a book, spine crushed and pages gone soft, dog-eared and worn, laying open on top of seokmin's chest.  
  
"what?" soonyoung says, genuinely confused. "i've never been mad at you, i'm not mad at you - what are you talking about?"  
  
(and this is true, this is a fact - soonyoung has been frustrated, he's been annoyed, but he's never in four years of friendship been angry at seokmin.  
  
soonyoung is angry a lot, admittedly. sometimes over things that are insignificant and innocuous and petty, even - but he's never, not once, been mad at seokmin.)  
  
soonyoung sits up so quick it makes him dizzy, props himself up onto his elbows and stares at seokmin. "hey - " he says, and he prods seokmin's leg with his foot. his voice comes out softer than he expects, more concerned. "hey, what are you talking about?"  
  
for a moment, a long moment, seokmin won't look at him. instead, he's picked up the book that was laying on his chest and he's staring at it but soonyoung can tell he's just pretending to read. he wants to remind seokmin that he's a terrible faker, an awful actor; he isn't reading, he's just staring at the pages of his book so he doesn't have to look at soonyoung and this goes on until soonyoung reaches over and pulls the book away from him.  
  
" _hey_ ," soonyoung says again. he nudges seokmin for a second time. "talk to me."  
  
he shouldn't have to beg for that - he's never, ever had to beg for seokmin to tell him anything, to let him in.  
  
"you think i don't notice, but i do," seokmin says finally. the words make soonyoung tense and he feels his face go pale. he knows, he knows, he knows - he knows, and it's ruined - soonyoung swallows hard, trying to swallow the horrible lump that sits in his throat. he wants to say a million things at once. wants to play the fool, wants to asks notice what? and deny whatever it is that seokmin says. wants to say: _i've never stared at your mouth, i've never thought about kissing you, i've never told you i loved you and meant it in a way that you can't understand. i've never dreamt of you_ , he wants to say: he wants to lie.  
  
"it's like you don't want to be around me sometimes, soonyoung," he says, and somehow, this is worse. this is worse than him knowing - because now the realization that he's hurt seokmin, however inadvertently, makes him feel shamed and selfish and sick. "i'm sorry, if i did something. you can always tell me if i did something."  
  
soonyoung can't stand it, he can't stand seokmin apologizing for something he didn't do. he sits up straight, turns around, sits on his knees and looks at seokmin - "stop it." seokmin stops apologizing, stops speaking. he sits up too, his eyes level with soonyoung's.   
  
"it's not that," soonyoung says. (he can see that seokmin wants to know, wants to ask what is then, but he doesn't. and soonyoung still isn't ready to say it, but he can't leave things this way so he reaches over, tugs at seokmin's wrist and holds one of his hands. he should be the one apologizing, but soonyoung thinks if he tried, he'd start crying. he wouldn't be able to stop. instead, he squeezes seokmin's hand between his own.)  
  
"it's not that, okay?"  
  
but he can't tell him what it _is_ , and that's another issue entirely.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
soonyoung doesn't like the way his own body makes him feel sometimes, doesn't like the way his own soul makes him feel most of the time. he doesn't like the tenderness of his own heart, the feel of it inside his chest; it's too messy a thing, he's too messy. he pictures his own heart, the essence of it, and he what he sees is a bruised peach - gone soft and weak under the weight of all the hands that have ever held it.  
  
he feels like he's too gentle a touch for this world and the things in it. he thinks his heart wasn't made for his; he hasn't been kind to it, and maybe no one else has, either.  
  
he wishes he knew how to take care of himself, wishes he could tell other people what he needs for them to do.  
  
no one, soonyoung realizes, knows how to take care of him -  
  
no one except seokmin.  
  
and maybe seokmin will never love him back, not the way that soonyoung wishes he would, but he'll never do the wrong thing. he'll never mishandle soonyoung, he'll never let him down.  
  
soonyoung thinks that has to count for something.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
maybe it'll all fall apart, maybe it won't.  
  
maybe it will happen like this: maybe soonyoung will finally stop wondering what it would be like to kiss him, and he'll actually do it.  
  
maybe it will be late at night, maybe they'll be lying on their sides in soonyoung's bed and maybe it will seem like now is as good a time as any. maybe soonyoung will realize that neither of them are getting younger, and that they won't always have all the time in the world, and maybe one day it'll be too late to do anything about the way he feels, the way he has felt for longer than he can remember.  
  
but before he kisses seokmin, he'll apologize. he'll reach over and he'll brush the back of his hand against seokmin's jaw before opening it, his palm blooming flat and wide and soft against seokmin's neck, and he'll say, "seokmin - "  
  
he'll say, "i'm sorry."  
  
(if soonyoung ruins it all, he wants to remember seokmin in a certain way, in certain terms, in a certain light: wants to remember the way he looks when he's putting a record on to play at work, his hips pressed against the counter with the vinyl disc balanced just so in his hands. soonyoung wants to remember the the moment seokmin lifts the needle and then places it down, gently, onto the edge of the record. he wants to remember how it looks, how it feels, the moment the burst of static turns to music and seokmin's face lights up.  
  
he wants to remember the way seokmin looks standing in the kitchen, in soonyoung's kitchen, in front of the stove. he wants to remember the squareness of his shoulders, the curve of his back under the fabric of his t-shirt. he wants to remember seokmin's voice, quiet and distracted, singing the verses of any song all out of order; the way his voice lilts over the words, easy and pleasant.)  
  
he wants to remember seokmin the way he is now, the way he looks here - like he belongs. like he belongs lying next to soonyoung, like he fits in perfectly in this room, in this bed, his pulse steady under the sweep of soonyoung's hand. soonyoung wants to remember seokmin like he belongs, like he belongs to him, and soonyoung finally stops fantasizing about kissing seokmin and does it.  
  
he kisses seokmin, hardly a kiss at all at first; leans his head forward and brushes, barely touches his lips against seokmin's. gentle, experimental; and seokmin moves against him, a surprised little jump, but he doesn't pull away. he lets soonyoung kiss him again, with more intent this time - and it takes every bit of willpower soonyoung has to not pull him closer, to not bruise seokmin's mouth with his own.  
  
(seokmin will reach up, wrap his fingers around soonyoung's wrist and holds his hand there, against the side of seokmin's neck and something deep, deep down inside soonyoung chest will bloom.  
  
"i'm sorry," soonyoung will say again after a moment, breathless and overwhelmed, "i'm sorry. i don't want to upset you - you don't have to stay. you don't have to stay if you don't want, minnie."  
  
seokmin will stay.  
  
seokmin always stays.)

**Author's Note:**

> truthfully, this doesn't feel finished to me, but i wasn't going to keep it sitting around in my WIP forever as that is my greatest weakness and the trap i fall into most often as a writer. it's at least 70% less horribly sad than anything else i've written a while, so i'm not totally unhappy with it. title taken from a meg & dia (lol am i showing my age here) song. listened to much bright eyes, death cab for cutie, dashboard confessional, the hush sound, and smashing pumpkins while i wrote. you can find me on twitter @starshelled, feel free to drop by and say hey. as always, thanks for reading.


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